Saving Grace
by Luminous Lu
Summary: After a case goes terribly wrong, Temperance Brennan feels the need to isolate herself in a house she owns, away from DC and the Jeffersonian. Mostly Brennan, and B&B. Other characters will also appear regularly. WARNING: includes violence/ rape scene.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's notes:** This is my first Bones fan fiction! I finally ventured into something other than Lost, and I'm loving it so far! I hope you don't find the story boring or dull, I promise you it will include more action in the near future! Also, I want to thank the lovely **crearealidad**, for taking time to beta this first chapter for me. Your insight is truly appreciated!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bones or any of its characters! I'm just doing this for fun, no profit intended! :)

**SAVING GRACE**

**Chapter One**

The leather bag fell on the ground with a thud, making her aware of her surroundings; the echo it provoked in the room reminded her that she was completely alone, that not one soul was there, sharing her space, breathing her air.

Temperance Brennan was never a woman to fear the solitude of a house in the woods; in fact, she had always enjoyed the quietness, it was inspiring and soothing. But for the first time in her life, in that moment she felt small. Like the bed in front of her was too big for her not so small body; like the room she was standing in was too spacious, too large. She had never noticed how big that house was before this day, and it brought her to a state of alert that tired her already hyperactive brain.

Not that she wasn't used to being on the alert. She had grown used to a lot of feelings in those past few weeks, learned how to face some of her fears, and mostly, realized that all of her problems were very small, compared to what she felt like now. Her investments, her knowledge, the case she was working on at the time, those were all superfluous, almost shallow problems. Nothing had stopped the events of two weeks before, nothing had kept her safe like she had expected, not even the martial arts she had so carefully trained in, or the gun Booth had so unwillingly left with her. She was good at talking people into doing things for her, but he was nearly too stubborn for her almost innocent manipulation; he had moaned and cursed before he had agreed to leave it on her bedside table, with the promise of checking it for prints in the case that nothing happened, forcing her to touch the weapon in case of emergency, only.

Brennan had smiled as soon as he closed the door on his way out, reaching for the gun and taking in the weight of it, feeling the cold metal against her thin, white hands. It had felt strange for her, to hold a gun, to have it in her apartment. Rationally, she knew it was just the regular fear of the effect she had so often seen in corpses, that she knew that weapon could cause. But deep down, what she felt was disappointment with herself, for not feeling safe with the gun in her hands, not as safe as she felt when the owner of the said weapon was beside her.

Temperance Brennan had placed the gun carefully on her vanity, heading to the kitchen and taking the last sip of the water she had served herself and Booth an hour before. After that, she had walked to the bathroom, and then to bed. She had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Tonight, she had her own gun, now, and she took it out of her purse quickly, loading it and placing it on the nightstand. Her rational self taking over, she opened her suitcase and started to unpack. A shirt, t-shirts, skirts, dresses. All in soft, light colors, like Angela had suggested. Not the kind of clothes she would wear to work, the kind of clothes she would put on during a vacation, a summer trip. And it was the summer. And to be honest, she was vacationing. Well, she liked to call it a 'leave of absence', two months that Cam had been happy to give her after what had happened to her. But still, she had free time and no work obligations, so she was allowed to wear her _relaxed_ clothes.

Of course, she had brought her laptop with her, and she carefully pulled it out of its case, taking off the battery and connecting it to the plug. She would write, during those two months. She would start a new novel, maybe not like the others, maybe not crime-related. She didn't want to be anywhere near forensic talk, at that time.

Nobody knew where she was, not even Angela. She had always kept this house a secret, her refuge for when she needed silence. It was near a lake, and the forest around it gave her a sense of peace, a sense of home. Of course, those feelings seemed dim now, compared to the fear and the pain she was experiencing. Besides, she was acutely aware of how abandoned she was there, how helpless she would be in case of emergency. Disappearing completely, without leaving an address or a phone number wasn't a safe, she knew that. No one would know how to reach her if something bad had happened, no one would be able to come in her aid. But still when she had considered taking this time off, she had wanted to be completely disconnected from everything and everyone she knew. The wounds were still fresh, the pain was still throbbing, and all she wanted was to be left alone. Completely alone.

Not even Booth had been allowed to talk to her before she left. She had left him a note in her apartment, knowing it would be the first place where he'd look for her. The note had few, but elucidating words. She had never been one to let her emotions flow out of her pen, but writing it had proved to be more painful than she had thought. "I'm sorry, I have to leave. I'll be back, I promise. Don't look for me. T." She was pretty sure of what his reaction would be when he read it: he would pick it up from the living room table, and he would hold it closer to his eyes, checking if it was really her handwriting. He would probably send it to the Jeffersonian, in order to make sure it hadn't been written by _him_, trying to chase her again. Brennan had foreseen this fact, and she had written a sentence she knew Angela would recognize on the back of the paper, in a small and careful manner. She knew Angela would authenticate the message from this sentence alone, and it would leave Booth feeling both relieved and slightly hurt.

She had wanted to write more. She'd wanted to say everything that came to her mind in that message, and every piece of dirt that populated her brain since that night. She had wanted to tell him how scared she felt, how hurt she was now, how damaged her own hands seemed. She had wanted to ask him to follow her to the house, to comfort her with one of his guy hugs. 

She had wanted him to know it hurt to leave him behind, but that she needed to be alone, completely alone. She needed to strip that event out of her mind, and she needed to recycle her brain.

She finished tidying up her closet, and sat on the bed, facing the window in front of her. She had opened it as soon as she arrived, and the light was entering the room softly. She stared at the lake through the open doors, allowing her fingers to feel the soft fabric of the bed covers, inhaling the clean air. Her hands were lying on the bed, her skin reveling on the coldness of the fabric, allowing their heat to creep through the fibers. Her hands had been hot, sweaty, ever since that night. Fear, she recognized it from her symptoms, was taking over her body. And for the first time in a few weeks, even though it was just for a second, the freshness of the new air and of the covers underneath her hands made her feel somewhat safe.

The moment wasn't gone as fast as she thought it would. She prolonged it, thinking of the only few times she had felt absolutely safe ever since the incident. She thought of Booth's eyes on her, of his hand clutching hers at the hospital, of his soft snoring on the chair next to her, of his body, too big for that small place. She thought of his arms, holding her body against his, bloody and broken, when he found her.

A small crack on the wooden floor of the house pulled her from her safe thoughts, and her instinct made her move her arm towards the gun placed on her nightstand. Pointing it at the door, she moved carefully towards the hallway, and then quickly, hoping to surprise the intruder with her weapon.

The intruder was anything but surprised by her presence. In fact, it continued to lick its paw and run it through its little face, pausing only to regard her with a pair of curious, yellow eyes.

Brennan smiled and lowered herself in order to be closer to the grey cat. Her heart was pounding on her chest, and her rational side was screaming at her that what she had just experienced was just paranoia, perfectly normal in the early stages of post-traumatic stress. Of course, she didn't believe in psychology, but the explanation fit into the reality she wanted to live at the moment, and therefore she didn't fight it. When she was sitting on her feet, the cat moved towards her and licked her hand softly, forcing a small smile out of her lips. It was the first time she had smiled in almost a week.

"Hi." She said, caressing its ears playfully. She checked and realized it was a male cat. It didn't have any collars or tags, so she assumed, it was just living in the surrounding area. She would allow it to enter the house, but keeping a door open, in case he had a home and wanted to leave. She would let him be free, as free as she couldn't be.

"My name is Temperance. My brother calls me Tempe, but it kind of annoys me. I prefer my whole name. Or Brennan. Or Bones. You know what? I think I'm going to call you Earl." The cat meowed and moved towards her lap, pressing his head against her legs. She couldn't help another smile. "Do you like it? Do you find it appropriate for you?" the cat purred and she laughed softly. "Yes, I think it is too."

Getting up from the floor, she shook the cat's hair from her khaki pants and smiled, as the small creature followed her into the bedroom, sitting silently on the bed, next to her. She 

smiled and placed the weapon she was still holding on the nightstand for the second time that day.

Caressing the cat one last time, Brennan moved out of the room and down the stairs, towards the kitchen. The back door of the house was slightly open, explaining the surreptitious entrance of Earl, the cat. She opened the fridge door and started to unpack her groceries and fresh food; she had brought enough supplies for about a week, so that she wouldn't have to drive into town often. She didn't want to be seen a lot, just in case any of her friends back in DC had reported her missing, and the police were looking for her. As soon as she found herself able to, she would send Angela an e-mail, reassuring her friend that she was in fact alright, safe and sound, and wanting nothing but to rest and clear her head.

This retreat had been Angela's suggestion after all, and Brennan had accepted it almost immediately, to her best friend's surprise. Temperance Brennan wasn't usually one to suddenly abandon her work, and her eagerness to accept the proposition the other woman had for her proved that she was more hurt than it showed physically.

Brennan finished filling up her fridge and pantry, and allowed the fridge door to be open a little bit longer than it was supposed to be, in order to refresh her body with the coolness there. The August weather wasn't kind on her, and even though she had previously endured much higher temperatures in her trips to South America and Africa, right now she wasn't enjoying the smothering heat. For a moment, she wished the house had air conditioning.

Actually, she was lucky that the house had running water and electricity. When she bought it, at the time when she published her first book, the property was nearly destroyed. Brennan had restored it, turning it into a small cottage, and lake house that nobody knew about. Her refuge. And right now, her only safe place, out of DC, out of the Jeffersonian.

She sat at the table, as Angela's face came to her mind. She missed her feisty best friend, already. She missed the heat of her hugs, the kindness of her voice. Her joyful presence. It was enough to cheer her up sometimes, Angela's never ending energy, and her words of comfort, when she met Brennan at the hospital and talked to Booth, who wrongly thought his partner was asleep. They had hugged, and Angela had wiped tears from her eyes, holding her best friend's hand between her own and kissing it softly. "He broke her, Angela. I think he destroyed her." Booth's voice had come from Brennan's right side, and the other woman used her hand to muffle a sob.

"Don't say that, Booth. She's too strong for that, she's a trooper. She'll get through this." The confidence in Angela's voice, that night at the hospital, had been enough for Brennan to feel warm and loved.

"He beat her up. She has a couple of broken ribs; one of them perforated her lung. He marked her, Angela. It's written on her back, in his sleazy handwriting, _'she is mine'_." Booth's voice broke down as he said this, but Angela was still clutching Brennan's hand, tight. "It gets worse."

Brennan shook her head at the thought of these words, not allowing herself to panic anymore. Shaking her head slightly, she poured some milk into a plate a placed it on the ground, for Earl 

to delight himself. She pulled a ready-made meal out of the fridge and prepared it, sitting at the table with a glass of milk and the plastic plate in front of her. She ate silently, allowing the food to course down her esophagus, not thinking about it. She tried to read a corny novel she had bought on the way, but it was proving to be more amusing than actually interesting.

Her mind wandered back to Booth for a moment, to his hand on her forehead when Angela had left the room to go home. He had never left her side, not for second. He had kissed her hands, and her forehead; he had whispered soothing words into her ear, words he knew she would usually ignore, but that he knew were essencial in this particular case. He had cried silently, and she had pretended not to notice.

She finished her meal and cleaned up the kitchen, motioning for the small cat to follow her up the stairs again. She laid down on the bed, pulling Earl along with her, and closed her eyes, allowing the memories to resurface. It was the first time she was letting herself go, adjusting herself to the thoughts that came along instead of having them adjust to her way of thinking.

She could almost feel his fist beating her up again. She had woken up that night, already beaten up. She couldn't understand how her body hadn't reacted to the first blows, but it suddenly made sense. Her sudden tiredness, her falling asleep as soon as she got to bed. He must have drugged her.

She had tried to fight back, but her body didn't respond to her brain's orders. She felt the crack of a broken rib, and the acute pain on the right side of her chest. She could taste blood in her mouth, as he stopped his frantic activity and moved to open her legs. She silently begged him not to do what he was trying to do, but it was useless. Her mouth didn't move as he thrust into her, forcing her to let go of all feeling, of each and every point of connection to her body. Her mind wandered, not interested in what has happening to her physical self, or the violations the man had perpetrated. And then, pain struck her awake, and she screamed.

Sitting up on the bed, she felt her face wet from the tears that had been stringing down her face. She picked her phone up from the nightstand and pressed 'one' on the speed dial. Her hands were sweating, and she could barely breathe through the sobs that were taking over her chest. It didn't take long for the voice on the other side of the line to pick up. She spoke first, the tears still taking over her voice.

"Booth? It's me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi, everyone! Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews on my first chapter! It feels so darn good, when you find a fandom that besides being absolutely delightful itself, has people who are so warm and welcoming! I tried to reply to every review, but if I forgot someone, here's my 'Thank you'. **

**Here's the second chapter! I hope you like it! And I promise, from the next chapter on, it's not going to be just Brennan and Earl. S'more people will start finding their way in. :)**

**Oh, I couldn't forget my immense gratitude to_ crearealidad_, who is, so far, the best beta reader I ever encountered! If you haven't already, you _must_ read her fics, they're simply amazing! :D**

**Thank you so much for supporting this story! **

**--**

**Chapter Two**

"Booth? It's me." There was a pause on the other side of the line, one she interpreted as disbelief, then, a loud intake of air, followed by the voice she was so eager to hear.

"Bones? Is that you?" she smiled as soon as she heard it, tears still falling from her face copiously. She felt her chest rise and fall quickly as she took his voice in, reveling in the illusion of having him close to her. It wasn't even appropriate, the safety he provided her, and the security she craved from him. "Where the hell are you? What on earth were you thinking, running away like that? Did you expect me to get that note and shut the fuck up until you suddenly decide to call? Where are you?"

"It… It doesn't matter." Her voice was shaky, unsure. She had picked up the phone with such confidence, pressed the speed dial, and now he was talking to her and she wasn't sure of what to say. For the first time in a very long time, Temperance Brennan was out of words.

"Yes it does, Bones! It's not very smart of you to leave and tell no one your whereabouts! What if something happens and you need help? You're all _alone_." His voice wasn't angry; she could sense the preoccupation in his tone, and a tiny bit of pain that came along with it.

"I know, Booth. I just…" Again, she was out of words, and it was starting to make her desperate. "I shouldn't have called. I just wanted to hear your voice, that's all." They finally came out, and the silence on the other side of the line convinced her that she had said something inappropriate. Earl got closer to her, and she placed her left hand on his head, distractedly. The small cat licked her palm, but she barely noticed it.

"Please tell me where you are."

He was almost pleading for her to tell him, but she knew she couldn't. She knew that as soon as she told him, she might as well expect him to knock on that door at any second. And she really needed to be alone, even though the craving for his presence was becoming physically painful. But still, she had sensed the change in the conversation. He had gone from angry to worried, and now was falling into the same kind of sadness that invaded her.

"I'm sorry, Booth. I need to be alone, just for a while. It wouldn't be right for me to tell you where I am and not expect you to come and meet me." Her voice was stronger now, more like her usual self.

"Now _that's_ quite presumptuous." He said, and she could hear the smirk on his face. Ah, Booth. She was stunned at how a simple sentence from his mouth could make her feel like everything was going to be alright, even when she knew, at heart, that it wouldn't.

"It's not presumption, it's the truth." She was surprised by the smile that came across her face. "You're not trying to trace my call, are you?" She knew he was. But she also knew he probably wouldn't act on his findings unless she gave him permission, whether it was in actual words or an innuendo.

"No." He paused. "Or maybe I am." She was glad to hear him chuckle on the other side of the line. The tears on her face were almost dry by now, but she was still clinging to the phone on 

her ear with a tight grip, as if it brought Booth closer to her. Brennan realized she would have to tell him, even if it meant repeating what she had said on her note, that she wanted to be alone. That she wouldn't _function_ if she didn't have this time for herself.

"Booth." Her voice was low, defeated. She didn't want to push him away like that, but she knew she needed to, in order to keep her sanity, her rational mind.

"Yeah."

"I really need to be alone right now, you know? And I don't want anyone to look for me, not even you, or Ange, or my dad. I really need to do this, to think about everything that happened." Brennan paused. She could hear him breathe on the other side of the line, and she could feel his pain almost as if it was her own. "I'm not pushing you away, _per se_. I'm just taking some time off from my life."

"Yeah." This small word had a devastating effect on her. She muffled a sob with her hand, trying to find words to make it better, but she couldn't. "I could be there with you, you know? I'd give you your space, but you'd still have someone. Temperance." His voice was calm, soothing, but it did nothing to ease her pain. "Let me be there. I can take some time off, and I can take…"

"No. I'm sorry."

She pushed the 'disconnect' button on her cell phone and pressed it against her chest, trying hard not to cry anymore. Who was this woman she was becoming? She had never cried so much in her life, she had never felt so broken. Not even when her parents left her, and she had always seen that as the most traumatic event of her life. But now, everything had changed.

How could a single night erase everything she had ever studied, every choice she had ever made, every piece of her controlled, rational self? She had always told people "There's no practical use in feeling remorse or guilt; there is no practical use in lingering over situations that are already over." But now it was her, and it was nearly impossible for her to stop thinking about that night.

Booth had found her on her bed, lying naked, blood covering most of her white skin. Her first thought when she'd seen him come in through her bedroom door, had been that she hadn't wanted the first time he saw her naked to be like this. She had tried to cover herself with her hands, but the pain on her sides was too much, nearly taking over her conscience.

She remembered his voice, his scent while he lingered over her face, trying to discern whether she was awake or not, even though her eyes were slightly open. She remembered now, her first words to him "Thank God you're here" and then, the memories were blurry. She had felt herself being covered by him, who'd taken off his jacket and called for an ambulance. He had placed a warm hand on her cheek, and she had flinched in pain, and he had murmured apologies in her ear. "I should never have left you alone." He had said, in a low, tense tone. She had wanted to cry, to press her face against his neck, but the pain had been too strong, too real.

When the ambulance had arrived, she'd felt the hands of the paramedics working on her, but had never ceased to feel Booth's hand on hers. He was sitting on the bed next to her, whispering soothing words while she moaned in pain. Again, that wasn't the kind of moan she had wanted to present him with, when he saw her naked. But somehow, his presence had eased her pain, had made her feel like she had something to hold on to.

She didn't remember the ambulance ride, or the arrival at the hospital. By the time she had woken up, Angela was in the room as well, and Booth was giving her the speech about her being broken. Brennan had wished she could scream. How could he? He was her support, how could he be giving up so easily? Trapped in her silent state, she had become increasingly mad at him, to the point of wanting him out of the room; but as soon as Angela left the room, and he sat by her side, all the anger was gone. He was crying.

Brennan shook these memories out of her brain, getting up from the bed silently and opening the window in front of her. She leaned onto the frame and inhaled the fresh scent of the woods around her, allowing the breeze from the lake to enter her chest and fill her up with energy. The sun was setting on the horizon, and the worst hours of her day were coming.

She had started to hate the night hours, since the rape. During those two weeks, she had closed all the blinds in her apartment, and lit up every single light, in order to fool herself with the illusion of daylight. Brennan sighed as she remembered this attitude, and mused on the fact that the person she was now was very far from the person she had been, prior to the incident.

Sighing, Brennan moved away from her window and put on her pajamas, moving down the stairs with the cat behind her, and closing every door and window, checking ever room for a foreign presence. Her gun was placed carefully between her hands, and she entered every division carefully, the way Booth had taught her. After everything was closed, she poured more milk onto Earl's plate, and placed it on the ground next to the fridge.

"I'm going to have to go into town tomorrow, to buy you some food. An adult cat like yourself can't live on milk alone, you know?" the cat looked up at her and, as if protesting, meowed. She smiled slightly and motioned towards the pantry, to get a pack of crackers. "I don't care if you like it, you must have a balanced diet, and otherwise you're going to grow fat."

Earl purred and focused on his milk, drinking it eagerly. Brennan smiled and turned off the lights, climbing up the stairs and walking towards her bedroom. She arrived at her bed and placed the gun on the nightstand again; placing herself under the covers, she didn't close the window. She like the smell of the water and trees, it soothed her.

It wasn't easy for her to fall asleep. Earl joined her at the bed a couple of minutes later, but even with the feline company, she found herself unable to concentrate on the soothing scenarios she had ready in her mind, especially for bedtime. Finally, she thought of a certain Christmas, a couple of years back. They had all spent Christmas together at the Jeffersonian because of quarantine. It had been one of the best Christmases of her life; being there with all her friends, and even though she didn't have anyone visiting, she had felt loved.

She fell asleep with the thought of Booth, by her side on the exam table, trying to explain the essence of Christmas to her. Nobody but Earl could see that she had a small smile on her face, when she was asleep.

--

She woke up early, as soon as daylight started to enter the window. Brennan realized it had been a good move, to leave the window open for the night; it allowed her to wake up as soon as the sun was up in the sky, and enjoy every hour of daylight.

She stirred on the bed; the cat also stirred beside her and got up in his paws, yawning and making her smile. This was her favorite hour of the day, when she felt more optimistic. Although it wasn't very easy to feel optimistic right now, the beginning of a new day was always somewhat promising, new.

Brennan got up from the bed quickly and went to the bathroom. After performing her usual morning routine, she put on a pair of beige pants and a white t-shirt, and moved down to the kitchen, in order to have breakfast.

Earl wanted to sleep more, and made his point by refusing to leave the sheets, so she allowed the cat to stay in bed. She served herself some orange juice, cereal and bread, and picked up a novel she had brought with her from the kitchen counter, opening it on the marked page. She tried to read, but lately, her mind wandered to other places while her eyes focused on the words, and forced her to read the same paragraph over and over again.

Her mind was far away from that place when a soft knock on the kitchen door brought her back quickly. Brennan motioned for the gun, but realized she had left it on the nightstand. Getting up slowly from the chair, Brennan walked to the door and tried to hear something.

"Who is it?" she asked in a slow, controlled voice.

It was a joyful voice that got back at her. "I'm sorry, I'm Amelia Kent. I was wondering if you've seen a grey cat…"

Brennan opened the door, and found a small, rotund woman on the other side of the door aisle. The woman should be about fifty years old, and wore her hair pulled up in a bun, with a flowery dress that made her look like a figure from the fifties. She closed her hands in a clap as soon as she saw the tall woman in front of her.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry! Did I wake you?" her voice was light and cheerful, and somehow, gave Brennan the feeling she could trust the woman. Luckily, the scientist was aware of the fact that she wasn't as good at reading people as Booth was, and therefore decided to wait a little bit before she handed the woman her trust.

"No, not at all, I was up already." The woman regarded her curiously, and she motioned for her to come into the house, awkwardly. She thanked her with a nod and took small steps towards the middle of the kitchen. "Is the grey cat yours? I think I've seen it around."

"Oh, he's not my cat. He's just a stray I feed, but he's usually up at my place by 5 AM, and I feared he had been run over by a car or something…" Brennan cut her off.

"Actually, if we're talking about the same cat, which I suppose we are, he's sleeping upstairs." Amelia Kent smiled, surprised, and Brennan made a motion with her hand for the older woman to put herself at ease in the kitchen. "I'll go get him for you." She moved up the stairs quickly and took a very sleepy Earl into her arms. When she arrived at the kitchen, the other woman smiled tenderly.

"Oh, that's him alright! And he likes you! Don't you, Fluffy?" Amelia Kent touched the cat's ears and he purred. Brennan made a face at the name the woman had given the majestic cat. _Fluffy_? It wasn't even right for him to be called that. "If you're alone here, you can keep him with you if you want! I figure this house is pretty big for just one girl." She said nicely.

"Well, thanks, but Miss Kent…"

"Oh, it's Mrs. Kent. My husband, Harold, and I live just down the road. You probably passed by our house on your way here." Brennan recalled passing by a cottage like hers, about a mile back.

"Mrs. Kent, I don't think Fluffy is an appropriate name for a cat as majestic as _Earl_." She said, in her usual, confident tone. Mrs. Kent seemed to bite back a laugh.

"Earl? Oh dear, that's my son's name, I can't give that name to a cat!" She laughed slightly. Brennan moved to take the cat from her arms, and he gladly motioned to the doctor's chest.

"Well, he likes it. You chose your son's name very well, it's a strong name, but I'm afraid Earl here had grown used to his name, already. We can't change it now." Mrs. Kent smiled at Brennan's words.

"Alright, sweetheart." She regarded the scientist curiously. "All this talk about names and you haven't told me yours yet."

Brennan thought for a second "I'm Joy. Joy Keenan."

Amelia Kent shook her hand slowly. "Well hi, Joy! It's a pleasure to meet you!"

Brenna smiled. "It's nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Kent."

Mrs. Kent withdrew her hand from the shake and clapped happily again. She motioned for the door. "Well, my dear Joy, I'm going to go. My husband must be wondering where I am, he gets crazy if I'm not there, always thinks I've been kidnapped by the big foot or so."

"The Big Foot was actually a very large…" Brennan started, and then smiled "It's nothing. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, darling! You should come around the house sometime, we always have tons of food and fish my husband catches!"

"I will." Amelia Kent made her way out the door, closing it slowly behind her, as Brennan put the cat down on the floor.

"Well, I think I saved you from a life of despair, _Fluffy_." As if he was angry, the cat turned around and strolled to the living room, leaving an amused Temperance behind.

She took the car keys from the counter and picked up her wallet, on her way to town, in order to buy some cat food.

--

Brennan stopped at a crossroad near the house, taking time to look and carefully continue. She had bought a few cans of cat food, a litter box and other treats she had found necessary for the well being of Earl, the majestic cat. All of these things were lingering on the passenger seat, as she drove quietly, enjoying the sound of the engine.

She had always loved to drive, ever since she had gotten her license. She enjoyed good machines; powerful cars that made her feel like she could take over the world on those wheels. Luckily, her enjoyment hadn't changed along with everything else; she could still drive her way through the country, thinking about nothing but the road ahead of her.

The car slid into the driveway, but Brennan's chest registered a bang. There was another car on her driveway, a brown Chevrolet Caprice from the seventies, parked neatly in front of her door. Brennan's hand moved towards her bag immediately, and she pulled out the gun. Getting out of the car, she walked towards the door and pointed the gun inside.

Her hands were sweating again, and her heartbeat was racing. She could feel the fear creeping from under her clothes, climbing from the small of her back to her neck slowly, coldly. Her stomach seemed to be jumping, and she was invaded by a wave of nausea. Brennan tried to control her breathing, in order to calm down, but it was useless.

"Sweetheart!" The door opened widely in front of her, and a pair of masculine arms held her close to a body she knew well. The gun fell from her hands, but she kept shaking, her head unable to believe what she was seeing and feeling.

"Dad?"

--

**Feedback is very much appreciated!**


End file.
